


That's What Friends Are For

by zombie_socks



Series: Island of Misfit Boys [3]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Flashbacks, Foster Care AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Violence, One-Shot, Some Explicit Language, bullying/teasing, deaf!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombie_socks/pseuds/zombie_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part 2.5 for Island of Misfit Boys. </p><p>It's Clint's twelfth birthday and he's celebrating with laser tag, pizza, and his best friend - Natasha. But when a group of freshmen start to tease him about his hearing, Clint gets rattled, and it's up to Natasha to restore her friend's confidence. <br/>Meanwhile Phil does paperwork and Steve attempts to make a cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint hastily wiped away his tears the moment his eyes detected the shadow creeping along the hall. Just because he couldn’t hear his sobbing didn’t mean he was being silent. He furiously wiped away the moisture clinging to his cheeks as the shadow got closer. He contemplated running, but knew deep down he wouldn’t get far and it would only make it worse to be caught trying to get away.

He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to watch the shadow inch closer, not wanting to see it overtake the hall, overtake him.

He felt the air move beside him and risked opening an eye to observe what his robbed sense of hearing couldn’t. He felt a wave of relief crash over him as he realized it was Barney.

  Barney’s mouth was moving – the older boy still not accustomed to his little brother unable to hear him. But he stopped when he got no reply and bowed his head. Clint watched his lips move, unable to make out any of it. He’d gone to the doctor down in Cedar Rapids and Mommy had told him on a piece of paper that they’d be back in a bit to pick up his hearing aids. He’d tried on a pair but they’d had to be adjusted. Daddy hadn’t looked happy but that was normal. Clint’d wondered if they’d told the doctor the truth about how he’d lost his hearing.

Barney extended a hand, offering a ratty teddy bear to Clint who took it willingly. Teddy had been Barn’s first but the older boy had given it to his younger brother when he was one. The thing was matted and mulled and missing an eye, but Clint held on to it for the same reason Barn had given it up: it made him feel better.

Barney wrapped an arm around Clint’s shoulders and pulled him close. With the other hand, he fished out a small book from his pocket. It was one of Clint’s favorites, one about a little bird that got the courage to leave the nest. And even though he couldn’t hear his brother reading the words, he could feel the vibrations of the sound on Barney’s chest, and follow along with the pictures and familiar sentences. He closed his eyes and dreamed of flying. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Lucky, down,” Clint commanded through his laughter as the dog licked his face. Clint pet the dog, running fingers through the mutt’s short fur, narrowly avoiding the wagging tail. He wiped off the assault of dog drool with his shirtsleeve and poured the kibble into Lucky’s dish for breakfast. The dog attacked it, desperate for a meal despite having been fed last night. Clint shook his head at the dog but smiled.

He left the dog to his breakfast and went in to the aroma of Phil making pancakes.

 _Happy Birthday,_ Phil signed, catching sight of the boy. _Twelve,_ he added shaking his head. _Can’t believe you’re twelve already._

Clint grinned and sat down at the table. Steve set a plate in front of him followed by a glass. _Happy Birthday,_ he signed placing a card on top of the empty plate and a rolled up piece of paper.

 _Thanks_ , Clint replied, opening the card. It was from both Steve and Phil, included little messages from the pair. Clint set it aside and opened the roll of paper, figuring it was a drawing by Steve.

“Wow,” Clint expressed, looking at the watercolor of him and Lucky silhouetted against the setting sun, playing in the park.

“You like it?” Steve asked.

Clint beamed. “It’s beautiful, Steve.”

Phil slid a steaming hot pancake onto Clint’s plate, followed by two more. The kid was still small for his age, but his apatite was growing. Plus with everything he had planned for the morning, Clint was going to need energy. Steve placed the plate of bacon on the table and then tucked into his own breakfast.

“What time are we supposed to pick up Natasha?” Phil asked, taking a bite of pancakes.

“Eleven fifteen. She’ll be on the corner like normal,” Clint answered.

Phil nodded, but swallowed his food slowly. He’d always gotten the feeling that Natasha didn’t like to be home very often. She was over at the house far more often than she was at hers. And Clint hadn’t been to her place once in the year or so they’d known each other. He’d contemplated that maybe her home life wasn’t safe, but Clint had never said anything and Natasha hadn’t indicated any evidence. But he kept an eye out.

They ate in relative silence, enjoying the warm meal.

“Laser tag and pizza.” Steve grinned after awhile. “Perfect birthday if you ask me.”

“Don’t forget cake,” Clint added.

  _Cake!_ Phil’s mind echoed. _Shit! I knew I forgot something._

“Better get dressed,” Steve suggested, picking up his plate and carefully taking Clint’s, telegraphing his movements so the younger boy knew Steve’s intentions didn’t include stealing his food. He’d gotten so much better at that, but Steve was still careful, not wanting to trigger Clint.

Clint ran upstairs. Phil pulled Steve away from the sink where he’d deposited the dishes.

“I forgot to make a cake,” he explained in a hushed rush.  

Steve’s eyes widened. “Crap. Phil, what…” But an idea hit him. “How about I stay home and make it while you take Clint and Natasha to Xandar.”

Phil breathed a sigh of relief. “Really? You’d do that?”

Steve grinned. “Of course, Phil. Just tell Clint my asthma is acting up or something.”

Phil put a hand on his shoulder. “I owe you.”

Steve waved it off and began to scrub the pan the pancakes had been made in.  

 

Dark clothing was best for laser tag. Clint had gone with his traditional choice of a deep purple shirt and black cargo pants. And as Phil pulled up to the corner of Reddington St. and Capitol Ave., it was obvious that Natasha had garbed herself in traditional attire as well: black skinny jeans, black zip-up hoodie, dark eyeliner. Clint would never admit it, but he liked the eyeliner a lot.

“Happy birthday,” Natasha wished, slipping into her seat in the back of the car next to Clint. She hugged him tightly. She smelled good today. New shampoo, he guessed.

 _Thanks_ he signed, keeping it small, just between them. He felt his cheeks go a little warm at her responding smile. That’d been happening a lot lately. There was just something about Natasha that made him want to run a marathon or go cliff diving or something. A strange energy that made his heart beat in double time.

 _Ready to beat the shit out of some guys?_ Clint asked, flicking his eyes up to Phil to see if he’d caught the swear. Tony had said once that the first thing anyone should learn in a new language is the swear words. To date they’re the only thing Tony knows in ASL.

Phil kept driving, fowl language either unnoticed or ignored.

 _You bet,_ Nat signed back.

They talked aimlessly about video game play-throughs and the range renovation at the Treehouse. Clint teased Nat about her unruly curls having trouble staying in her hair tie. She badgered right back about his shaggy hair being in his eyes. When her hand brushed the offending bangs away from his face, Clint’s cheeks tinged pink again.

Luckily he was saved by Phil announcing they were here.

Xandar was an arcade, laser tag arena, and indoor/outdoor mini golf course. Or as they advertised it, a planet’s worth of fun. The entrance was set up with a giant four-point, golden star atop an archway that served as a bridge for the golf course. Inside carried over the theme with deep blues and rich golds. A wall of glass let in natural light for the indoor part of the golf course, but was mostly blocked by a giant climbing wall to keep the arcade in relative darkness. The laser tag arena was in the back, fully enclosed and done up in black light.

Phil bought Clint and Nat two rounds of laser tag and let them go off to the arena, electing to take a seat in the snack court. He’d brought his tablet and was looking through some files Maria had sent him. He hadn’t told the boys yet but they might be getting a new foster kid.

Eighties rock music was blasting in the arena loud enough that it could be heard through the closed doors. A group of older kids, maybe high school freshmen, sat on the benches outside the arena, waiting for their turn. Clint and Nat sat on the last available bench. It looked like they’d be lumped into the group of older kids.

Clint fidgeted with his hearing aids. The music was going to be really distracting.

 _You okay?_ Nat asked.

Clint nodded. _Music might cause interfearince._ He fingerspelled the last word, wincing when it took Nat a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

“Hey guys,” one of the freshmen called, “check out small fry over there, talking with his hands.”

Natasha shot them a warning look. The guy laughed, encouraging his buddies to join in.

 _Ignore them_ , Nat ordered.

 _Can’t even hear them, Tasha._ He smirked at the end, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew they weren’t going to lay off, had been teased enough in the boy’s home to know.

“Get stuck on loser duty, sweetheart?” the guy tossed.

Nat rolled her eyes, not dignifying his question with a response.

The doors opened and out stepped a white haired woman who looked too strong and proud and tired to be running the front desk of a laser tag arena. The doors opened again and players walked out, chatting excitedly as they gathered around to see the scoreboard. A dusty-brunette boy punched the air in excitement. “Star Lord wins again! Ha, in your face, Gamora!”

“Gamora” as it turns out had gotten second and the girl dressed in black and green didn’t seem please with the result. Her friend clapped her on the back. “Wait until Rocket sees I surpassed his high score.”

They left, saying something about meeting up with “Drax and Groot.” Nat shrugged off the names, dismissing them as monikers. Boys were like that. Could never call something by its real name. Clint had at least half a dozen nicknames for her. Tony doled them out like Oprah. You get a name, and you get a name!

The woman motioned for the next group to follow her to get suited up in sensor-covered vests. Most of the freshmen took the red team vests. A few from their group split off to fill out the blue team – the one Natasha and Clint were on. Nat noticed that the guy who’d harassed Clint was on the red team.

The woman explained the rules as they got ready. Natasha signed them for Clint despite him knowing them by heart. His eyes flickered over to the group of freshmen, catching the tail end of their leader wildly flailing his hands about in mimicry of Nat’s signing.

“Alright, troops,” the woman announced, hand hovering over the button to open the doors to the arena, “move out.”

The doors flew open and the players rushed inside.

 

 **Steve was starting** to panic. He’d figured that Phil had a cake mix lying around for Clint’s birthday and that he’d fix that up, put some icing on it, and call it a day. But after a painstaking search of the pantry, it became clear there was no mix in sight. The grocery store was too far to walk or ride a bike to, so that left one option: make it from scratch.

He’d found a recipe online, had followed it, making substitutions for things they didn’t have (like powdered sugar instead of cane sugar and baking powder instead of baking soda.)

The result was less than desirable.

And the crew was due back in an hour and half to pick him (and the cake) up to take to Carbonelli’s Pizzeria over on 7th.

It was time to call in reinforcements. Picking up his phone, he dialed the familiar number, waiting until the second ring before she answered.

“Aren’t you supposed to be shooting aliens in some arcade game right now?” Peggy asked over the line.

Steve grinned. “Supposed to be, yeah. But it turns out Phil needed someone to take over cake making duty.”

“And you have no idea how to make one,” she guessed.

“I…know… _how_ to.”

Peggy hummed dubiously. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

And to the dot she was. Her arms were wrapped around a large grocery bag full of baking supplies that she dropped on the table.

Steve kissed her cheek as he helped her unpack the bag. “You’re the best.”

She smiled. “I’m fully aware.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language and violence warning

Bottle caps and bailing wire. Really they were just what Barney could find lying around dilapidated barn, but he got them to work. So for Clint’s sixth birthday he proudly presented the younger boy with a set of “hearing aids” for Teddy. Clint carefully fixed the wire around the bear’s ratty ears, beaming all the while like the sun. Barn had never felt prouder.

But pride, just like everything else in the boy’s home, was fleeting, and now both of Clint’s hearing aids were missing…along with Teddy.

Clint was doing his best not to cry, but Barn could tell he was scared. The boy couldn’t hear and the one shred of comfort he’d brought with him had been stolen. Barn knew the culprit, some asshat by the name of Jackson Parker. So he’d left Clint with some of the younger boys who were playing Go Fish to go in search of Jackson.

“Give ‘em back,” Barn growled, pulling himself up to his full height (four foot ten inches – impressive for his ten years).

Jackson however didn’t look intimidated. “Or what?”

Barn took a step closer, dropping his voice. “Or I’ll make you give ‘em back.”

Jackson laughed. “You don’t scare me.”

Barn sneered. “You took his fucking hearing aids, you son of a whore!” 

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Pretty big words coming from white trash like you and your weak ass little brother.”

Barn punched him. Square on the nose. He hated to admit how much he enjoyed the sound of bone snapping. Jackson’s hands desperately tried to contain the blood streaming from his nostrils. “Son of a bitch!” he cried, voice nasally and clogged. “You fucking son of a bitch!”

Barn had spots of blood on his knuckles. “You give my brother back his stuff, or I swear to God, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

He turned on his heel and went back inside to check up on Clint.

From the other side of the yard, a boy smoked a stolen cigarette and smirked. He needed an accomplice. He’d just found one.

Or maybe, rather, he’d found two.  


	4. Chapter 4

His chest vibrated announcing once again that an opponent had shot him. Clint heaved a sigh, sagging his shoulders as he waited for the time lock on his laser gun to be released.

He was sucking at this game.

He normally did really well, sniping off opponents from some hidey-hole in a tower. But the freshmen had taken all the spots on the raised platforms. And everything was dark, scarcely illuminated by black lights hanging from the ceiling. And with the music blaring it was impossible to concentrate. The choice to sacrifice his hearing in order to focus was becoming rapidly more appealing. He usually did turn off his hearing aids in laser tag, safely tucked away in a sniper’s nest, helping out Tasha on the ground plane. But today he was out of his element, had been shaken out.

He reached a hand up to turn down his hearing aids, but the last minute sound of pounding steps behind him had him spinning around to take down an opponent.

It’d been close and if he hadn’t heard the footfalls he’d have been hit. Again.

He knew he’d be fine without sound; he’d probably do _better_. But…

But what?

Some dumb freshman makes fun of his hearing loss and now he can’t stand the idea of being deaf?

Yeah. That was exactly it. Because his deafness was a weakness and some stupid freshman had no qualms about exploiting that weakness.

The bell sounded and lights flashed, ending their game. The players exited out the door, hanging up their vests in the room where they’d gotten them. Nat’s eyes scanned over Clint’s sunken shoulders and downcast eyes. She frowned but didn’t say anything.

The freshman knocked into Clint on the way to see the scoreboard. He whooped loudly seeing as he got first place. Clint didn’t need to check to know he’d come in last.

“Wanna go again, short stuff?” he called out.

Clint shrunk in on himself.

 Natasha took Clint’s hand and dragged him over to a corner created by a wall and the side of a pinball machine.

 _You okay?_ she questioned.

He shrugged.

 _Clint?_ she prompted.

“What do you want me to say, Tasha? He got in my head, alright! Some stupid remarks and teasing and I froze.” He bowed his head feeling ashamed at how little it took to throw away all the progress he’d made while living with Phil. Why wouldn’t that feeling of being worthless go away?

Nat placed a gentle hand on his cheek and raised his head so his eyes met hers. She smiled softly and moved her hand to his.

“So what?” she stated evenly. “You’re not perfect.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “But you _are_ far superior to how they made you feel. Clint, you are strong, brave, and most importantly you have a heart of gold so big it has to leak out a bit and end up on your sleeve.”

Clint narrowed his brows and with a slight smile muttered, “I think you’re mixing up your idioms.”

Nat waved him off. “English is dumb anyway.” She adjusted her posture, spine going ramrod straight like in her ballet classes. “Now, we have another game of laser tag in fifteen minutes. And you can bet your life that group of jerks will be back. And you know what? We’re going to hand them their asses on a platter.”

Clint smirked mildly. “Sounds like you’ve got a plan, Nat.”

“Think of it as your birthday present. Follow me.”

He trailed a step behind her as she made her way to the prize counter opposite the arcade games. Her intense green eyes scanned over the stuffed toys and dollar store trinkets. “Ah,” she expressed as she found something that would work. “Seventy-five tickets.”

Natasha fished a five dollar bill from her pocket and fed it into the slot of the nearest token exchange machine. It burped out a handful of tokens and she handed them to Clint, pointing him towards the skee ball table. “Think you can get me seventy-five tickets?”

He raised a brow, looking for a moment like Tony trying to flirt. “With my eyes closed,” he answered.

And that confidence alone made Natasha smile. He could take hits. He really could. But his strength to get back up never wavered. And more and more she found herself relying on that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We dip a little into Barney's mind here and it gets kind of dark, bordering on self harm. Just an FYI.

Barney sighed when he saw Clint curled up on his bed. He approached carefully, ignoring the flicker of annoyance when he saw Clint try to dry his eyes on his sleeve. Was he really crying again?

Then again, maybe that annoyance was more from Barn’s aching knuckles. That punch had left damage on both sides.

Barn tapped Clint’s shoulder to get the younger boy’s attention. Clint looked up, big blue eyes red rimmed and watery.

Barn tapped a finger to his ear, raising a brow in question. He knew there was an official language like this, a way he could learn to communicate with his brother without sound, but he didn’t even know where to begin to learn it.

Clint shook his head in response to the question. No, he didn’t have his hearing aids back.

“Fuck!” Barn swore, grinding his teeth and pounding his good fist on the bed.

Clint tugged at Barn’s sleeve and the older boy looked at his brother, making eye contact so Clint could try to read his lips. But Clint was twisted around pulling something from under his pillow.

“They hurt Teddy,” he muttered, words garbled with hearing loss and residual tears.

Barn took the ratty bear from Clint’s hands. They’d cut open the bear’s neck and pulled out all the stuffing, leaving nothing but the shabby fake fur, a limp, empty hide. They’d taken the button eye and the bottle cap hearing aids too.     

Barn wanted to burn the whole house down. He wanted to pound in the skull of the nearest fucker who did this. He wanted to take his brother away from here and make a home someplace better.

But his knuckles hurt and his heart felt like it had been rolled in glass shards. He didn’t have the strength, the energy, or the ability to do that. They were stuck here. And it pissed him off. Made him so full of rage he was starting to understand why their old man drank, why he was the way he was.

Barn tossed the stuffed bear skin at Clint. “You were too old to be hanging onto him anyway,” he spat.

He got up from the bed, doing everything in his power not to ram his fist into the nearest wall. But one glance back at Clint’s stupid blue eyes tipped him over his breaking point. He slapped the wall of the hallway, out of sight of his younger brother. He slapped it over and over, waiting for the blood for the pain, for feeling. For release.

And when it didn’t come Barn grit his teeth.

He was going to make Jackson pay.

Because that was something he could do. He could make that son of a bitch hurt. He was good at making people hurt. After all, it was in his DNA.


	6. Chapter 6

“You sure about this?” Clint wondered as Natasha stuffed his hands into the pair of dress up opera gloves he’d won with the tickets.

“The white will show up in the black light. I’ll be able to see you signing,” Natasha replied, ripping the seams of the gloves and tying the ends together around Clint’s wrists to get them to fit. 

“But won’t that give me away, tell ‘em where I am?”

Nat shrugged. “Then I’ll take them out while they’re distracted.” She finished tying up the ends and dropped her hands to her sides. “Ready to go kick some ignorant ass?”

Clint grinned. “Let’s do this.”

They walked back over to the laser tag arena and handed over their ticket for their second game. It didn’t come as a surprise that the group of freshmen were already there, snickering at the returned pair.

 _Ignore them_ , Nat signed, hoping to keep the smile on Clint’s face. She hated when it left. (She hated her dependence on that smile more.)  

Clint nodded and reached up to his ears to turn the volume down on his hearing aids.

The same woman from before led them back to the room to gear up. She explained the rules but no one seemed to really be listening. The leader of the freshmen group was elbowing his buddies on his team, pointing to Clint’s newly acquired gloves. Clint admitted they looked ridiculous, but Natasha had a plan and he trusted it, trusted her.

Nat relayed the signal for them to go and they burst through the doors. Clint darted off immediately for the high ground, not wanting to have a repeat of last time.

His mind was far more focused now. There was no distracting music, no taunts. His eyes took in the colored illuminations, processed them and mapped out his surroundings. He reached the top of a tower near the middle of the course and took out a whole pack of red team opponents. He quickly signed _five_ _down_ for Natasha trusting she’d see it from wherever she was on the course.

He fired at another squad, taking down three more.

The black light caught the red in her hair enough for his watchful gaze to catch her on the far side of the course. He watched her stealthily sneak up and fire on four red team members, taking them out with lethal grace. They couldn’t keep up with her as she moved around them, her ballet training showing in her moves. Clint grinned at that. They so had this round in the bag.

He took out a team that advanced on his hiding place and signed the count to Natasha.

He fell into the rhythm of the game. Shoot, duck, keep an eye out for patterns. He more than once alerted Natasha to a squad trying to sneak up on her. And she returned the favor by taking down red team members that had advanced on his position in the tower.

He didn’t need to hear a word, he could follow it all with his eyes. And to be honest, he quite enjoyed the view.

The lights flashed (and a bell he couldn’t hear sounded) signaling the end of the game. Clint found Nat in the gear room, taking off her vest and placing her gun in the holder.

 _Way to go, hot shot_ , she signed with a sly smile.

Clint could barely ignore the warmth that spread through him at that. He put away his gear and followed her out to the waiting area, turning up his hearing aids as he went.

He caught sight of the freshmen slinking away, their leader glaring at Clint over his shoulder. Clint flashed him a smile and wiggled his still gloved fingers in a mocking wave. The freshman flipped him off.

“You two tied in the new high score slot,” the white haired woman stated. She went behind the counter and logged onto a computer. The TV screen behind her flashed black for a moment before revealing a cursor poised at the first place slot. “Name?” she asked.

Natasha turned to Clint with her head tilted in question. Clint shrugged in response but added, “Something cool.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “No duh.” She thought about it, propping her chin in her hand.

“Steve was reading one of those military tactic books from the library the other day,” Clint started, pulling the gloves off his hands finger by finger. “He called them Strike Teams.”

Nat nodded. “I like that. But it’s missing something.” A pause. “What would our strike team be?”

“We could use out initials,” he suggested, moving on to the other glove.

“Strike Team NC?” She shook her head. “Not quite right.”

Clint frowned as he adjusted the volume on his hearing aid to the rambunctious atmosphere of Xandar. Nat lit up.

“D,” she said.

Clint narrowed his brows. “D?”

“For deaf.”

Clint tapped his chin. “Delta. It’s D in military speak.”

Natasha grinned and turned back to the woman who was still waiting to put their team name in on the scoreboard. “Strike Team Delta,” she announced.

The woman entered the text and clicked a button on the screen to update the scoreboard. She then came back around the desk to usher the next group of kids into the gear room to get ready.

Nat stood back next to Clint and they both peered up at the screen that contained their first place high score and new team name.

“Strike Team Delta,” Natasha repeated.

 _Strike Team Delta,_ Clint signed, putting his forefinger and thumbs together in the shape of a triangle for Delta. Nat mimicked the shape.

They found Phil and told him about their high score and how they beat the other team using the white gloves Clint had won at skee ball. Phil laughed and smiled along, proud of the two for working things out.

“Ready for pizza?” he asked.

“Need you ask?” Clint replied. Natasha just rolled her eyes.

Phil packed up his files and walked behind the pair as they signed their recap of their battle on the way out to the car. He was so happy to see his son smiling like that, and he silently thanked whoever and whatever that Clint had a friend like Natasha.


	7. Chapter 7

Barney sighed in frustration. Jackson was laying low, probably being hidden by his entourage; no doubt someone had let slip that Barney was looking for him after that stunt with Clint’s bear.

Barn straightened up from checking a worn hole in the side of the porch deck. Clint had crawled under there once, but found it too constricting, too close to a certain cabinet he’d been shoved in. Clint did better with heights. Jackson did not.

But the impudent boy wasn’t under the porch, or hiding in the barn, or anywhere on this stupid farm! And Barn’s anger was beginning to boil, shorting out rationality. He tried to rein it in. He really did. He hated having such a short fuse. Just like his old man.

If there was one thing he never wanted to be, it was his old man.

“Lose something’?” a voice called from across the yard.

Barn whipped his head over to see a boy, about his own age, leaning up against the trunk of a tree. Barn walked over, observant of every twitch the boy made.

“What’s it to you?” Barn challenged once he was a few steps away.

The boy dropped the cigarette he’d been smoking into the dirt and put it out with the toe of his busted up pointed boot. “Nothin’ much, really. Just,” he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a pair of familiar hearing aids.

Barn made a grab for them, but the boy jerked them away.

“Careful now, slick,” he drawled. “Boy get hurt that way.”

“Give them to me,” Barn ordered, clenching his fists at his side. He’d deck this kid into next week to have Clint’s hearing aids back.

“And I will,” the kid reasoned. “But even Jesus had to raise the dead before he got lunch.”

“What?”

The kid smirked. “Just hear me out.” He tightened his hand around the hearing aids and Barn resisted the urge to shove this guy to the ground and pound him into the dirt. “You and I are a lot alike, Barney. Both got our habits,” he indicated Barn’s knuckles and his own cigarette butt. “Both feel a need to act. Both don’t take a liking to being caged up. Like animals, you know? Need our freedom, our space.” He grinned, something conniving and convincing.

Barn didn’t move.

He went on. “I bet you like cars, right? The speed and the wind. The acceleration.” He pulled another cigarette from his pants pocket. “I bet fightin’ gets your heart rate up. Gets the adrenaline pumping.” He lit the white paper and pulled in a deep breath, holing the acrid smoke in his lungs before expelling it out his mouth and nose. “For me it’s these.” He waved the cigarette pinched between his fingers. “My daddy used ta burn me with ‘em, put ‘em out on my skin, right? But if I hold ‘em, see, I have the power. They don’t own or scare me anymore.” He took another long drag.

“They’ll give you cancer,” Barn stated evenly.

“And fightin’s gonna land you in jail.” Another inhale. 

Barn folded his arms over his chest. “What’s any of this have to do with Clint?”

The boy smirked. “You didn’t let me finish. I’m prepared to make you a deal, Barton. See, I got a way off this place. We could go for a few hours e’ry week or so. Just us having fun, indulging our habits.”

“We?”

“Yeah, that’s part of the deal. You get some freedom, I get a partner in crime, and little Clinton gets his hearing aids. Providing he serve as a lookout, you know.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m getting Clint involved-”

“Relax, big guy. He wouldn’t be _involved._ Just making sure the coast is clear for us to come and go.”

Barn narrowed his eyes. “And if I say no?”

The boy swung an aid skillfully around his finger on the hand not holding the burning cigarette. “Then I’m sure Jackson would love to have these back instead of the bottle cap pair from that ratty teddy.” He grinned off Barn’s glare. “Jackson gets inattentive when angry.” He quit spinning the hearing aid and took another huff of his cigarette. “So. What’cha say, Barney? Freedom and hearing aids for a friend and a lookout?”

He thought about it. It was tempting. Very tempting. Clint got his hearing aids back; that was a plus. Barn would get away from this stupid boy’s home; another plus. But his hesitation came in making Clint a part of this. He could get caught, get in trouble.

But as Barn thought about it, the less that last part seemed to matter. Clint was getting old enough to start looking after himself. And Barn wasn’t going to be there to hold his hand his whole life. So yeah. He was going to do this, to be this kind of selfish. Because he deserved something for himself after years of taking hits for his little brother. And hey, the kid got his hearing aids out of it, so yeah.

“You have a deal,” Barn finalized, sticking out his hand.

The boy took it, grinning wickedly. “Good choice, Barton.” He handed Barn the hearing aids. “Name’s Buck, by the way. But e’ryone ‘round here calls me Trick.”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve finished washing the last pan when his cell rang. Peggy answered it for him, handing him a towel to dry his soapy hands.

“Hello, Phil,” she greeted.

There was a beat before, “Oh, hi, Peggy. Steve there?”

She handed the phone to Steve who exchanged the cell for the towel. “Everything’s ready to go here, Phil.”

“Good. We’re about five minutes out.” He paused a second before adding, “Peggy want to come out for pizza?”

Steve relayed the question to Peggy who nodded her agreement while drying the pan Steve had just washed. “Yeah, she’ll tag along.”

“Good.” Another beat, this one longer, almost hesitant. “I don’t need to have a talk with you about being alone with a girl in the house, do I?”

Steve blushed a deep red. He hadn’t even thought about that. Not in that way, anyways. He’d been going out officially with Peggy for over a year, and they’d stolen that kiss under the bleachers in the gym that one time. But nothing age inappropriate for two fifteen-year-olds. Right?

“Steve?” Phil prompted, pulling the boy out of his thoughts.

“Oh, no, Phil. Everything’s fine.” He hoped it didn’t sound too rushed or forced. He glanced at Peggy to see her smirking at his floundering.

“Okay. Be ready to go, and make sure you don’t forget the cake.”

Three minutes later Peggy held the cake while Steve locked the front door and the pair piled into the car, Steve riding shotgun and Peggy behind him with Clint in the middle and Natasha to his other side.

Clint looked at the cake in Peggy’s lap and then at Phil and Steve in the front of the car. “You forgot the cake and Steve bailed you out, didn’t he?” the boy guessed.

Phil winced and Steve bit his lip. Clint laughed and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

Pizza was ordered, cake eaten before it even arrived, and Clint couldn’t help but think this was one of the best birthdays ever. He leaned in to Natasha and signed _thanks for today._

 _You’re welcome,_ she responded with a grin. _That’s what friends are for, right?_

And even though he positively beamed, a coil of something unraveled at the very far back of Clint’s mind.


	9. Chapter 9

“Barney, Barney, look! Trick fixed Teddy!”

As he entered the room, Barney looked down to where his brother was holding out the stitched up and re-stuffed bear. The new button eyes were mismatched and a seam was visible on the bear’s throat, but Clint’s grin was wide.

“Did he now?” Barney more accused than inquired as his eyes tracked over to where Trick was sitting on Clint’s bed, packing up a needle and thread.

Clint nodded. “Mmmhmm. We used dried beans to re-stuff him. He’s not as soft but he’s round again.”

Barn attempted a smile, but his lips remained more of a tight line. “That’s great, Clint. Trick, can I talk to you for sec?”

Trick nodded, giving Clint a high five on the way to the door and saying something about “stay sharp, little buddy,”

Once out of the room Trick’s smile waned a degree. “What’s twisting your panties there, slick?”

“Stay away from him,” Barn warned.

Trick narrowed his brows. “Thought we came to an agreement?”

“He’ll be a lookout, sure. But don’t you dare try to rope him into doing anything more.”

Trick smirked. “What’sa’matter, slick? Scared I’ll be a better bigger brother?”

Barney gritted his teeth, hands clenching into fists.

Trick swatted him on the upper arm and grinned. “No worries, Barney Bud. I’m a friend is all. And Clint looks like he could use a few of those.” He made to return to the room but Barn stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You shouldn’t have fixed the bear. He’s too old for-”

“He’s six, Barney. Let the kid have the stupid bear.”

“It’ll only get taken again.”

“So take it away first.” Trick raised a challenging brow and reentered the bedroom.

“Thanks again for fixing Teddy, Trick,” Clint expressed, hugging the bear close.

Trick flashed a smile, that same conniving, convincing one. “Hey, no problem, kiddo. “But you know what? That seam ain’t all that strong. It’s gonna bust open if you squeeze him like that.” He gently prodded the bear out of Clint’s grasp, keeping a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Say, why don’t we put him right here.” He set the bear on the windowsill beside Clint’s bed. “That way he can still keep an eye out on you, protect you, ya know?”

Clint nodded in agreement.

Trick sent a subtle wink Barn’s way. The boy rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t feel comfortable with how quickly Clint had latched on to this con man. It made his skin crawl.

He looked at the bear sitting in the sill and shook his head. Clint hadn’t let go of that thing for years. And now some smooth talking pre-teen gets him to give it up with barely a sentence? He couldn’t believe it.

Clint rubed at his eyes sleepily, making him look his age in a way that makes Barn feel a little sick. Trick was right: Clint was only six.

“Getting tired there, bud,” Trick asked.

Clint nodded and started to slip under his too thin sheets.

“Well we’ll clear out so you can get some shut eye. A’right?”

Again Clint nodded. He rolled over so he could see Teddy sitting in the windowsill.

He didn’t know that the bear would end up getting lost in an investigation years down the road and donated to a second hand shop where a man just getting out of jail in time to make it to his daughter’s birthday party would pick it up. (He’d attach a ribbon to it with her name, Cassie, written in cursive.) But for now it stood as a sentinel, a guardian to watch over Clint as he slept. And he was so glad to have someone watching his back.

“Night, Trick,” he bade. “And thanks again.”

Barn tried not to feel wounded that he hadn’t gotten a goodnight as well. He sent a glare Trick’s way, regretting his decision to make a deal with him more and more.

Trick grinned at Clint. “Aww well, kiddo,” he shrugged. “That’s what friend’s are for.” He turned to face a steely-eyed Barney. “Right?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-Da!!!!!   
> Part 2.5 is done! Part 3 still has a hefty bit to go, and I know I promised you guys that story sometime in fall, but university and my job and life...etc. I hope to finish part 3 over winter break and have it up early next year. I know I've made you guys wait impossibly long on this; forgive me. And I'm sorry you have to wait some more. But I haven't forgotten about this series and there will, repeat WILL, be a part 3. At some point. In the future. Some time.   
> But for now enjoy part 2.5. :)   
> Until next time, Z-Socks


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